


Two Birds. One stone

by IceGoliath



Series: In unity, there is strength [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: A mysterious blonde bartender, Based on a True Story, F/M, Musician Sweet Pea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceGoliath/pseuds/IceGoliath
Summary: Heckling comes with the territory when you're a musician.A gig at the Wyrm gets heated and a challenge is issued.“Any suggestions?“Smells like Teen Spirit” A female voice yelled from the back of the room somewhere.“You really want Nirvana?” He yelled back, incredulously.He didn’t really want an answer or at least not a yesIt was one of the hardest pieces in his repetoir, he’d never played it outside his apartment before.“Think you’re up to it?” yelled the voice again.Sweet Pea never steps away from a challenge.Oneshot AU
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Sweet Pea
Series: In unity, there is strength [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319264
Kudos: 16





	Two Birds. One stone

She was back again.  
The brunette who drank too much and giggled too loudly in an inappropriate tone. She would always sit at the bar, talking to Toni and glancing at him over her glass.  
So fucking obvious.  
Maybe it was him getting older, but he liked a bit of mystery. Someone unpredictable.  
The Wyrm wasn’t a bad gig. The Owners, FP Jones 2 and 3 let him cut-out early from his day job on gig nights, even lent him a few Serpents to do a sound check and help set up his equipment.  
They’d also let him take any left overs home. The mac and cheese was to die for. He’d once tried to get the recipe out of Fangs, the chef for the bar. He’d got him utterly plastered on tequila shots to try and get the recipe, but no dice.  
He was subconsciously aware of the brunette watching him, pulling a cherry off the stem with her teeth. He ignored it, focusing on the tuning pegs of his electric guitar, averting his eyes further to concentrate on the strings he was tuning, a battered black plectrum clutched precariously between his teeth, jaw clenching in annoyance at a bum note.  
Releasing the plectrum into waiting fingers; decorated with chipped dark nail polish and chunky silver rings, he played the first few chords of one of his own songs. He mostly did covers for this set, but that night he might try out one of his own, depending on the audience. Sweet Pea had done enough sets at the Wyrm to judge the mood of the room.  
A presence ghosted by his right shoulder and a smell of lemons wafted past his nose, as a hand holding a pint glass of clear liquid, lowered itself into his peripheral vision; slender with long, but neat nails the colour of black cherries. The hand disappeared after the glass was set on the floor.  
He raised his eyes, as she turned her back to walk away, blonde ponytail that reached to her shoulders swinging just above the two headed Serpent patch on the uniform black leather jacket. Peeking out the bottom was a checked black and green flannel that looked a little too long over skinny black jeans finished with ankle high black boots with silver buckles.  
He went back to tuning.  
He’d never seen her at the working in the bar before. It must be her first night.  
His first night was rough. It had ended loudly, with him punching a hole in a wall that was probably still there.  
FP number 2 signalled for him the start from his position behind the bar. After lowering the microphone to his level from where he sat on a high stool, he fiddled with a decent sized rip in the knee of his black jeans for a second then kicked his combat boots against the stool leg to a beat of four.  
Without any pre-amble he started to sing the first few bars of Warriors by Imagine Dragons, the volume in the bar lowering to a whisper.  
He paused.  
“It’s good to be back. This song is one of my favourites.”  
His fingers smoothly tripped over the chords of Rock you like a Hurricane, listening to a few people singing along, a grin snaking across his face. As the final chords died down, a smattering of applause came from the direction of the tables in the corner.  
The blonde.  
As soon as she noticed him watching, she turned to collect dirty glasses from the table, stacking a tall tower of pint glasses against her shoulder slowly making her way to the bar.  
“What are you playing next?” Came a cry from the bar floor.  
He blinked a few times, he hadn’t realised that he’d been staring. He picked up the glass and sipped from it, finding that it was water.  
“Any suggestions?  
“Smells like Teen Spirit” A female voice yelled from the back of the room somewhere.  
“You really want Nirvana?” He yelled back, incredulously.  
He didn’t really want an answer or at least not a yes. It was one of the hardest pieces in his repetoir, he’d never played it outside his apartment before.  
“Think you’re up to it?”  
He glared at the heckling. This was licence to cause some damage when the night was over or maybe he’d just wipe the floor with Fangs at pool.  
“I dare you to say that again.” He snarled.  
“Are you threatening me?” The words dangerous.  
He followed the voice back to the bar.  
It was the blonde again, she must be on break as she held a small tumbler containing something amber coloured. She knocked half of it back, then smirked over the of the empty glass, tilting her head to the side as if issuing a challenge.  
The brunette’s face twisted into a scowl at the exchange, he could feel the glare across the room and outright ignored it.  
“Not in the slightest.” He shook his head, a sly smirk sliding across his face.  
She was roguish, he liked that in a girl.  
“Then you can humour me,” Her grin self satisfied and slow as she downed the rest of her drink and set it on the bar. “And I’ll buy you a drink afterwards.”  
He stood up, pushed the microphone away and started to play.  
The whole room was quiet when the song was over, then the place erupted in cheers and loud applause.  
It was getting seriously warm under the lights from sitting in one position for so long, he could feel the heat on the back of his neck.  
After a while the room descended into silence and the mood changed. He inhaled deeply.  
It was now or never.  
A slight taste of anxiety crept across his tongue, he swallowed it down.  
Could he really sing one of his own songs?  
Then new idea crept into his brain and he smirked to himself.  
Two birds.  
One stone.  
He took a deep breath and grinned broadly, slowly removing his work jacket, making a show of it; revealing a grey vest and his customary dog tags accompanied by a new tattoo of a deep blue Chinese dragon that wound from his shoulder down to his bicep, it’s tail trailing down his forearm.  
He watched the brunette at the bar bite her lip. He had her attention. Good.  
“I have a new song for you tonight”  
This was his big moment.  
One he’d been waiting for all night, but with a slight change of plan. He looked over the bar, the blonde was still there, leaning her elbows on the bar top, looking like she was enjoying the show.  
“My girlfriend asked me to play this one. It’s her favourite.”  
He observed the blondes eyes go wide in surprise, her mouth making a cute little o. Elbows slipping a little as she backed up in shock, trying not to draw attention to herself.  
It was so hard to keep a straight face, but somehow he managed.  
She’d been trying to push him out of his comfort zone with his music for months. Said she was sick of rock music, going as far as betting him that he wouldn’t do it and even taking his favourite and most comfortable piece of clothing and holding it to ransom. She should know that he'd never turn down a challenge.  
“I’ve won the bet, Betty. I want my shirt back”  
There was no doubt as to who his girlfriend was now, her cover thoroughly blown.  
She’d wanted to be known on merit rather than have accusations of nepotism. Her words, not his.  
He smirked, twisting his rings, waiting for any reactions.  
When none came, his fingers twitched, finding the strings for an uptempo version of Jolene by Dolly Parton with his girl watching from behind the bar and the brunette slinking away disappointed.  
Sweet Pea grinned to himself, pleased at the outcome.  
His set couldn’t finish fast enough after that, but as he was employed to play for a couple of hours, he had to honour his agreement.  
As soon as the applause died down, he unplugged his guitar and shut off the power before putting the instrument in it’s case and laying it gently against the wall.  
Once he was satisfied, he strutted across the floor; parking himself on a stool in front of the bar where Betty had just finished pulling a pint.  
She reached under the bar, pulled out a tumbler of amber liquid and set it down front of him. He downed it and reached out to pull her towards him.  
He kissed her loudly and messily, thoroughly enjoying himself.  
“I knew you were taunting me tonight.” He said when the both pulled away.  
“It worked didn’t it?”  
“When do I get my shirt back?” He breathed in her ear.  
“Maybe I’ll keep it.” She whispered, before pulling away.  
He watched her walk to the other end of the bar, the slightly too big flannel suited her.  
He would never get it back and he knew it.


End file.
